Dona Luisa had to go and come many times before she could accustom herself to the imposing aspect of the concierges--he, decorated with gold trimmings on his black uniform and wearing white whiskers like a notary in a comedy, she with a chain of gold upon her exuberant bosom, and receiving the tenants in a red and gold salon.

In the rooms above was ultra-modern luxury, gilded and glacial, with white walls and glass doors with tiny panes which exasperated Desnoyers, who longed for the complicated carvings and rich furniture in vogue during his youth.

He himself directed the arrangement and furnishings of the various rooms which always seemed empty.
Chichi protested against her father's avarice when she saw him buying slowly and with much calculation and hesitation.

"Avarice, no!" he retorted, "it is because I know the worth of things." Nothing pleased him that he had not acquired at one-third of its value.
Beating down those who overcharged but proved the superiority of the buyer.

Paris offered him one delightful spot which he could not find anywhere else in the world--the Hotel Drouot.